The silence between us strains miles of ocean, two lone islands masked in psychosis...or some shit. Piercing glares, icicle snares, trapped in lapping waves, drowning. What once was my warm water home.Those clear, blue eyes have a way to see through me, to see through my walls, and see through this thing I thought we had built together. Further now, it's quiet, it's conversations not happening.My strained sandpaper smoke-filled throaty screams. It's your ears don't work, your back can't hold the grappling fear, muscles giving in, shoving two more boxes in the overfilled trash can, taut plastic...taut skin, stretched and hurting, ready to tear flimsy like that transparent baby skin, but it's my skin.Get tough! Thicken up! Calm down! And just shut the fuck up! But you move in one horse blinder plane, backwards. Sometimes no plane, no movement, just silence, giving in to giving up. It's this thing growing between us, we made it, and it's dying and gasping for breath. My blob, amoeba form stretching out tubercle arms toward your bobbing schismatic, your solid land, but you just turn your head. Away from me. You turn to watch a flying and cawing gull.
